


Five Times They Pretended And The One Time They Didn't

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blowjob Challenge, Clubbing, Dancing, Drunkenness, Explicit Sexual Content, Kissing, Love, M/M, Pretend Boyfriends, Pretend Date, Sherlock's Dating Advice, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically does what it says on the tin: five times Sherlock and John pretended to be a couple and the one time it wasn't pretend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Being Your Boyfriend Is The Only Thing Keeping Me From Walking Out

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock hadn't wanted to go see this film -- or any film -- but John had somehow talked (or was it bullied?) him into it. As a result, Sherlock was verging on throwing a tantrum and when they arrived to find a long queue to even get in, Sherlock went into full pout mode. He started by calling John some names and then he insulted his jumpers and now he was refusing to stand next to him.

A couple joined the queue behind them. "John? John Watson?" a woman's voice said. "Is that you?"

John had tried too many times to make Sherlock calm down and just enjoy the night, but he was being such a big baby about it all that he was now on the verge of telling him to just go home and he would watch the movie alone. But then someone spoke behind him and he turned to find his ex and her new boyfriend. "Oh, hello," he said, and in a panic he reached out for Sherlock's hand and tugged him over, looping his arm through Sherlock's. "How are you?"

At first, Sherlock was ready to throw a tantrum, but there was something about John's face as he spoke to this woman that let Sherlock know something was going on. He let John hold his arm, but he ignored the words being said and looked over at the woman trying to read her. He kind of recognised her face and then he remembered he had interrupted one of John's dates with her. Or it might have been a couple of their dates. Yes, John had really liked this one -- had tried a few times to woo her. But Sherlock had effectively put a stop to that.

And now she was standing here with an extremely good looking man whose arm was around her waist. Sherlock glanced down -- a diamond on her finger. He put his own arm to John's waist and moved in a little closer against him.

John felt Sherlock pull him closer and thanked the stars his deductive reasoning stretched to something like this. "It's good to see you -- new boyfriend?" he asked. 

"Fiancé," she corrected, showing John her ring. 

Something twisted in John's stomach but he merely smiled and nodded. "Congratulations," he said. 

"What's going on here?" she asked, pointing to the space -- or rather lack of space -- between John and Sherlock.

"Oh, well, we're on a date as well," John said easily. 

She narrowed her eyes. "I knew something was going on the way you were always running off. Are you serious?"

John smiled wider. "Yeah, I was a bit slow in seeing it but when you find the right one -- well, you know," he said, gesturing to her fiancé. "No need to keep wasting time on the wrong ones. Oh, the line's moving. Good seeing you again!" He turned and pulled Sherlock along, lacing their fingers and hoping he didn't pull away. 

Sherlock had lifted his other hand to John's hair and brushed a bit of it away. He had looked lovingly over at John and then back at the couple. He had nothing to say about any of this so he didn't say anything. When the queue started to move, he let John pull him by the hand but still said nothing.

John kept a hold of his hand until they were inside and sitting down. He leaned close to Sherlock and whispered, "Thanks for playing along. I didn't want her to know I was still single."

"I'm a thousand times more interesting than she is, John," Sherlock said. "You've definitely traded up." He smiled and tried to get comfortable in his seat but couldn't, so he kept fussing, bumping John and then complaining that they didn't have any snacks even though he knew he wouldn't have eaten anything anyway. John was just about to tell Sherlock off, when the couple came into the theatre and took the seats at the end of their row. Sherlock looked over at John's face and then grabbed his hand, holding it quietly while they waited for the film to begin.

John was thrown for a moment when he noticed the couple again and he laced their fingers. When he spoke to Sherlock, even to tell him to stop fussing, he smiled sweetly so that it looked like they were flirting and being cute. When the movie finally started, he leaned on Sherlock's shoulder. 

Sherlock slipped his arm around John's shoulder and stroked his jumper lightly. He moved his other hand to hold John's and rested their fists on his own leg. It was kind of nice actually. He noticed the woman looking over so he gave her one of his smarmy smiles and turned his head back towards the screen. Within ten minutes, though, he was bored of the film and had no idea what was happening so he shifted again, moving his arm off John's shoulder and dropping that hand down to John's thigh. He let his fingertips rest lightly on John's jeans, much higher up his leg than any regular flatmate normally would. He glanced over at John.

John looked over at him a bit surprised but he didn't push his hand away. Sherlock was good at this -- better than he expected him to be. The moves were subtle, but just the right amount to get a response. When he glanced at his ex she was forcing her man's arm around her shoulders.

Sherlock squeezed John's thigh lightly and turned back to the film. Then he leaned over and whispered into John's ear, "Feel free to pretend I'm whispering something romantic but what I'm really going to tell you is that I'm about to burst from boredom and greatly resent your dragging me along to this film." He leaned back and smiled.

John smiled up at him sweetly. "Please just enjoy the film and quit fidgeting."

"Being your boyfriend is the only thing that's kept me from getting up and walking out," Sherlock whispered. "You owe me: not for the affection -- I'm giving that of my own free will -- but for the two hours of my life I am utterly wasting."

"I appreciate you playing along but after all the body parts and poisons in my fridge, you owe me like a hundred more movies," John whispered.

"Keep talking like that and they'll be no kiss on the doorstep, young man," Sherlock said back.

"Unless they follow us home I don't think that's going to happen anyways," John said.

"Shame," Sherlock said. "That's the only part of this night I was looking forward to." He grinned and gave John's thigh another squeeze, before turning back to the film and pretending to fall asleep.

John rolled his eyes but leaned on his shoulder again to continue watching.

When the movie was over and the lights came on, John made sure to obviously pull back from him, smiling as he stood. His ex and her date -- her fiancé, John reminded himself -- seemed to be in a bad mood. Good.

As they walked home John dropped Sherlock's hand and stuffed his own into his pockets. "Thanks Sherlock. I know I shouldn't care so much, but I just got a bit carried away."

"It's fine," Sherlock said. "But you're right. You shouldn't care. Any woman who chooses that guy over you is clearly an idiot. That man cheated his way through school. And he's impotent."

"How on earth could you possibly know all of that?" John asked, unable to help being surprised.

"I read him," Sherlock said. "And her -- didn't you see the disappointment all over her face?" Of course, Sherlock hadn't really seen those things, but he didn't like when John's insecurity revealed itself. "She's incapable of being monogamous anyway. You'll be the one who got away, John. And eventually you'll find someone who's right for you and they'll be the luckiest person in the world." He glanced over at him. "Unless you start taking them to tedious films and then they'll dump you immediately and you'll totally deserve it." He smiled as he unlocked the flat door and rushed up the stairs.

John smiled softly at the compliments, laughing at the end. "Someone who's right for me will go to the cinema without acting like a child," he pointed out.

"Only if you drug them," Sherlock said. "I could whip something up for you -- just let me know." He put the kettle on and poured two cups of tea. "I think I'll take mine to bed. I might as well take advantage of my drowsy state and see if I can get to sleep. See you in the morning."

John took his own tea up to bed, reading for a while until he felt drowsy enough to try and sleep. He lay down and shut all of the lights off. As he settled into the pillow he imagined Sherlock's shoulder and he smiled softly. He was a good friend.


	2. Do You Think We Look Happy?

_Cancel any date for tonight. I've got a case. Your expertise required. SH_

Sherlock sent the message and began looking through the information Lestrade had given him. Three sets of murders, all couples, all occurring after a visit to the same club. Lestrade's men had swept the club -- no drugs or other dirty dealings occurring there. The latest theory was a serial killer or killers, and the club was just a hunting ground.

There was one thing Sherlock was sure of: he and John would be going clubbing this evening. However, how much information John needed before they left . . . that was something Sherlock wasn't not sure of. It'd be dangerous -- that'd be no issue for John. And, of course, John was a relatively mature man who respected the need for investigation regardless of the manner in which it had to be done (well, mostly). However, he also had a huge hang-up about 'the gay thing' and that might make this case trickier.

_What's the case? Where are we going? -JW_

John looked up at the girl he was talking to, so involved in her story that she didn't even notice he was texting. He waited for Sherlock's answer, already getting his excuse ready.

_Murder. Undercover. SH_

Sherlock left it vague for now. Once John got home and could see it was a real case -- something they hadn't had in weeks -- surely he'd be up for it. Sherlock took a shower and went into his room to change. He didn't really know precisely what to wear. He needed to blend in with the other people at the club, but seeing as how it'd been years since he was at a club, he wasn't sure what other people would be wearing. He chose black trousers and his purple shirt because John had once complimented him on it. Of course, he didn't need to look like he was out to find a lover; he'd already have one with him: John. He fiddled with his hair in the mirror and then sat down to wait for John's return.

John made his excuse and left her at the bar, heading back to the flat. When he walked in he paused, looking at Sherlock through narrowed eyes. "You've changed. Where's this case anyways? What are we doing going undercover?" 

"Six people have been killed all after going to the same club," Sherlock said. "I need to go check out the club."

John sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Sherlock, I've just come back from a bar and I don't fancy running out to a club, just because you want some company," he said.

"I don't need company, John," Sherlock said, slipping on his coat. "I need a date. Six people -- three couples. Don't make a big thing. It's a case. Besides, you know better than I do how to act at clubs. Think of it as an opportunity to lord your knowledge over me. Yes?" he said, holding the door open and waiting.

John raised his brows and sighed heavily. He had done crazier things for cases. "Okay. Yeah," he agreed reluctantly.

In the cab, Sherlock said, "The club is clean so we need to keep our eyes on the patrons. Could be one person or a pair. Just surveillance tonight -- let's avoid getting killed, yeah?"

"Yeah, that would be great," John said. "I can do surveillance."

"And can you do boyfriend? It's got to look natural, John, or we're just wasting our time," Sherlock said, glancing over at him.

John looked over and raised his brows. "I can definitely do boyfriend," he grinned.

"Fine. And don't go getting a wandering eye -- it's couples that are being chosen," Sherlock said, turning to look out the window. "And besides, it'll hurt my feelings."

"I promise," John smiled. "I will only have eyes for you. And the murderer."  
  
"Or murderers. We probably shouldn't separate since there's a relatively good chance there are two," Sherlock said. When they pulled up, he threw some notes at the driver and held John's hand as they walked to the club's door.

John held his hand as they walked into the club. He pulled him to the bar and ordered drinks, looking around at the crowd.

Sherlock looked around as well. He tipped his head towards John's and said, "Look at these people. Is this what you usually look like when you're out -- desperate?"

John threw him a warning look before downing half of his drink. "No, because I don't come to places like this. I go somewhere I can sit down and have a proper chat with someone. Dancing's . . . not my thing," he said. He leaned up to speak into Sherlock's ear so he wouldn't have to shout. Of course, he knew that, in order to keep up the facade, they might have to dance. He finished his drink and ordered another so he could be ready for that.  

"We're going to have to dance, John," Sherlock said. "Otherwise, why would two happily coupled up men come to a club? Unless we were looking for a third and, to be honest, I think I'm all the man you can handle. So we've obviously come here to drink and dance. And we've just had our drink," he added, finishing his. He moved a little behind John and slipped one of his hands around his waist. "If we head over there," he said into John's ear, "between us we should be able to see the whole place." He pressed a bit against John, moving them a little with the music. "Go on then, I'll follow."

John only felt a small twinge of embarrassment. He led the way to the spot Sherlock had picked and debated what was going to work better for him: facing Sherlock while he attempted to dance or staying with his back to Sherlock so he wouldn't have to see Sherlock watching him. Facing away seemed too sexual for him so he turned around and pressed into Sherlock. He moved with the music, holding his waist. This wasn’t any better. Well, maybe a little bit.

Sherlock walked with John and when he turned around, Sherlock grabbed his hips and pulled him closer. He dropped his head a little to rest his chin near John's ear and moved a little as he began scouring the crowd. Of course, he had no idea what he was looking for -- it's not like the guy would be there holding a sign that said "Murderer" but Sherlock was usually good at spotting people with ulterior motives. Most of the men there did look desperate to Sherlock -- desperate to find someone, even if just for one night, or desperately trapped by the relationship they were already in. Sherlock wondered if he and John looked like that. He didn't feel like that. "You're a good boyfriend," Sherlock said into John's ear.

John's eyes moved to the side, trying to look at Sherlock without actually moving his head. There was no reason to say it -- no one could hear him except John. He could have said 'potato salad' and to an outsider it would look like they were flirting. But he had said it anyways and John smiled softly. "You're very lucky to have me," he teased. 

"I am," Sherlock said. "I can't tell if people are looking at us out of jealousy or because they want us dead." He smiled a bit and slid one hand to the small of John's back. "See anyone interesting?"

John changed his movements to accommodate Sherlock's hand. "No," he murmured. "Everyone looks drunk or upset that they are not drunk."

"Are you drunk or upset you're not drunk?" Sherlock said.

"No. I feel pleasantly warm from my two drinks. You?"

"I'm good. Are you disappointed you had to leave your date earlier?" Sherlock said, moving their bodies a little more.

John shook his head against Sherlock's neck. "She wouldn't shut up," he smiled. 

"You're getting more action off me right now than you're likely to have got off her anyway," he said, moving his head and smiling a little. He moved his head back to where it had been and slid his hand up John's back and to his neck, holding it softly."Maybe he hates happiness?" he said. "Happiness must stand out in a place like this. Do you think we look happy?"

"I don't know -- dancing people usually look happier, I guess," John admitted. He looked around again but didn't see anyone suspicious. He lowered his hands to hold Sherlock's hips instead of his waist

"Are you happy, John?" Sherlock said, moving his mouth a little closer to John's ear.

John felt his cheeks warm as he nodded. "Yeah, Sherlock, I am," he murmured. "Are you?"

Sherlock swallowed. "I am happier than I have been," he said. He turned John quickly so he was facing the way Sherlock had been. "The bald guy in the green, striped shirt. What do you think? Suspicious looking?" 

John looked at the man Sherlock pointed out, turning his head into Sherlock's hair when the man glanced over at them. "He looks like a creep and he looked over at me," he murmured. His lips were pressed to Sherlock's ear. 

"Don't meet his eye," Sherlock said. He slowly danced them around so he could look up. The man was now chatting up a younger guy. "Too bad for you," Sherlock whispered. "You must be too old for his tastes," he pinched John's hip a little. "Don't worry, Grandpa. I still fancy you." He lifted his head and looked around again. "God, this is tedious. Do people really do this for the whole night?"

"If you keep teasing I'll be forced to leave you and find myself a new partner," John scolded. "We can take a break and get another drink if you want, but if you're tired don't take it out on me." He smiled and raised his brows at Sherlock, waiting for his answer. 

"It's not about being tired -- I'm not tired, I'm bored," Sherlock said. He gave John a little squeeze and stepped away. "Let's get another drink." He pulled John back to the bar.

John ordered two more drinks, looking around the room again. "Would you be less bored grinding against a new partner?" He smiled, looking back at Sherlock.

"Not at all," Sherlock said, taking a sip. "I prefer grinding against my usual partner. It's just this place is loud and filled with annoying people. And the music is shit. Those are the boring parts." He reached his glass over and clinked John's.

John smiled wider and chugged down half his drink. "Well, I am trying to keep you entertained but like I said, dancing isn't my thing."

"Are you suggesting we go have a quickie in the men's room?" Sherlock said, smiling. Maybe the alcohol was getting to him a little. He set his glass down. He couldn't forget that they were actually working -- even if it didn't quite feel like it.

John shoved his arm lightly. "Don't be a pervert -- aren't you supposed to be . . .browsing?" John looked around again and saw the man from before dancing now. Maybe not a killer after all. 

"I'm not browsing. I'm out with my incredibly sexy boyfriend who makes me incredibly happy. That's all I'm doing here. We're just out at the club . . . celebrating -- yes, why not? It's our anniversary. Come on," Sherlock said, standing and pulling John. "Dance with me on our anniversary."

John swallowed down the last of his drink before leaving it on the bar, stumbling a bit after Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled John close to him, gripping the side of his hips. He looked straight into his eyes as he rocked his own hips a bit against John's. "This has been the best ten years of my life," he said. "You've made me the happiest man in the world." Then he laughed a little and moved his head to the side of John's so he could look around the room again.

John held his gaze without blinking, huffing out a hard breath when he finally looked away. He knew it was Sherlock and that he was tipsy and that they were on a case and that when they walked out of here this would all be checked at the door but in truth, this was as good as any date he'd recently been on. "Here's to a hundred more!" he said loudly.

"Shush, drunk boyfriend, we're supposed to be working," Sherlock said, dipping down and smiling. They danced for a few more songs. Eventually Sherlock nonchalantly glanced at his watch. He moved his mouth to John's ear and said, "Nothing's going to happen here tonight. Shall we go?"

John was sweating slightly and panting as they finally stopped dancing. "Yeah," John nodded, taking his hand again as they fought their way through the crowd. 

Sherlock pulled John over to the bar to grab their coats and then out onto the street. The cold air hit his face and stung a little. He wrapped his scarf tight and put his arm around John. "You all right? Let's walk a bit," he said, staying close to John.

John nodded, shivering slightly. The cold air felt worse against his sweaty face. "I'm okay. It's a bit c-cold, yeah?" He stayed close to Sherlock to share the warmth.

Sherlock kept his arm tight around John's shoulder and shoved his other hand into his pocket. He felt a piece of paper, which he took out. He stopped and opened it up to read it.

_Nice try, Mr Holmes. I did enjoy the show, though. You and the good doctor make a lovely couple._

"Fuck," Sherlock said. He took out his phone and took a picture of the note. He sent the photo and a text to Lestrade.

_It's him. SH_

There was nothing they could do now. Moriarty would be long gone, pleased he'd won this round. Hopefully, that would give him enough satisfaction for the night so the rest of the club's guests would be safe. Desperate but safe.

"Come on," Sherlock said, pulling John towards him again and moving to the kerb to get a cab. "I'm not going to take you out again if you're just going to end the evening a drunken mess," he said as he helped John in.

"M'not a drunken mess, I'm just cold. Were we too obvious? Did I distract you with my great moves?" John smiled and looked over at him. "What did the note say?"

"It's Moriarty," Sherlock said, tossing the note over to John. "It's infuriating really, but I suppose it's progress. There's nothing more we can do tonight, but it's good we came."

"I'm sorry we missed him." He passed the note back to Sherlock and sighed softly.

"Don't be silly, John," Sherlock said. "This is Moriarty. He's playing a game with us. For all we know, he wasn't even there -- it was probably just one of his people. There was nothing linking him with these murders -- Lestrade thought it was a serial killer or hate crimes. It's not fun for Moriarty unless he knows he's being chased. It was good we went, even though it wasn't what I expected." He reached over and touched John lightly. "Besides, it's the only tenth anniversary I've ever had. Let's not ruin it." He turned and watched out the window as the cab pulled up to the flat.

John smiled at the end and shook his head. He would never understand this game with Moriarty, but he was glad that no one had been hurt tonight. He paid the driver and followed Sherlock out and to the door.

Inside the flat, Sherlock poured them each at a glass of water. "Here, drink this -- to make sure you don't have a hangover tomorrow," he said as he sat down at his laptop and sent Lestrade a quick email detailing the evening. He moved over to his chair. "He's getting to me a bit, John," Sherlock said quietly. "I don't like losing at his games." 

John drank the water gratefully, looking over at Sherlock when he spoke. "Sherlock, he's crazy. I mean these games, they are dangerous and playing along is dangerous. Just do what you do best and catch him and leave it there." John looked down at his glass and swirled the water a bit. "Don't get sucked in and killed or something," he added quietly.

Sherlock hadn't heard what John had said because he was already lost in head, chasing Moriarty. But when he came back, he looked over at John and smiled a little. "Anyway, thanks for a nice anniversary," he said.

John offered a small smile and nodded. "Yeah, it was nice," he said, smiling a bit wider. "I'm off to bed. Don't do anything stupid, yeah?" He ruffled Sherlock's hair before heading upstairs with his water.

"Too late -- you missed your chance to be the boss of me when you were my boyfriend. Now that we're back to just flatmates, I can do something stupid if I want to," Sherlock said. He stood up and stretched. "Luckily for you, I don't think I want to at the moment." He picked up his own glass of water, called good night to John, and went into his room.


	3. There Was No One Else To Ask

It'd been a year since Sherlock last had a case. Well, it hadn't been a year -- it'd been 22 days but it felt like a year, and it was starting to drive Sherlock a little mad. Moriarty had been silent and apparently all clever criminals were on holiday, because Lestrade hadn't needed help for quite some time. Doing nothing was not good for Sherlock Holmes.

Especially as it seemed like the only possible thing for him to do was watch John go out on a succession of dates -- each of which he cheerfully left for and disappointedly returned from every night for the last three weeks. (Again, it was actually only about four times, but hyperbole was a symptom of Sherlock's boredom.) He had no idea how John tolerated this process, but Sherlock was fed up with it. And since he had nothing else to do, Sherlock decided today he was going to solve John's problem once and for all. 

"John!" Sherlock shouted from his bedroom. "Come here, please, I need you!" The shout came before Sherlock thought to roll over and look at the clock, which read 5:18am. On a Saturday. On John's day off.

Too late to pretend he hadn't shouted, Sherlock thought, so he called for John again.

John jumped out of his skin and looked around the room, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked at the time and sighed heavily. He got out of bed a bit loudly, storming down the stairs -- only halfway because he had every intention of getting up to bed again. "What the hell is your problem?" he shouted. "It's my day off -- I want to sleep in! I am not doing anything until at least ten!" He went up to his room again and made a point to slam the door. He climbed under the covers and pulled them over his head. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall sleep again, but there was no way he was going to let Sherlock know that. 

Sherlock got out of bed and went up to John's room. He pushed open the door and said, "That's not a very nice way to greet someone in the morning, you know." He moved over to the bed and got in. "I just needed to talk to you about your dating problem. I have a solution to it, but if you want to wait until ten o'clock, that's fine with me." He rolled on his side away from John, pulling the covers up a bit dramatically. "Just wake me up when you feel civil enough to talk."

"What the--" John watched in shock as Sherlock not only came into the room without knocking but then climbed into his bed and got comfortable. He started pushing on Sherlock's back, trying to throw him off of the bed. "Get out!"

"Jesus, John," Sherlock said sharply. "Why are you being so horrible? I'm sorry I lost track of time and woke you up. I thought we were just going back to sleep. Be nicer when you wake up again or . . ." he stood up and stomped to the door. "Just be nicer." He stomped back downstairs to his room and pushed his door closed more loudly than he needed to, before getting back into his own bed.

John flopped onto his back and sighed loudly. How was it that Sherlock could make him feel guilty after he was the one acting like such an arse? He got up and put on his pajamas and dressing gown. He went into the kitchen and started the kettle, quietly making tea for the both of them. He went into Sherlock's room, set his mug down on his side of the table, and then climbed in on the other side. "Sorry," he said simply.  

Sherlock silently sat up and pushed back against the headboard. He took a sip of tea. "Thanks for this," he said softly. "Sorry for shouting." He took another sip. "Do you want me to tell you my idea now or do you want to sleep more?"

"You can tell me," John said, sipping quietly beside him.

"You obviously want a girlfriend," Sherlock said. "And just because that sort of thing isn't my area -- I have better ways to spend my time -- doesn't mean that I'm ignorant on the topic of courting. And clearly you are doing it wrong. So I have decided to help you out."

John raised his brows. "Oh really? Well, Mister Expert, please tell me your infinite knowledge on dating," he said.

"Knowing you as I do, I was prepared for that attitude. I'm not going to tell you anything. I'm going to _show_ you," Sherlock said.

John properly looked over at him now, blinking in confusion. "What? What are you going to show me?"

"Show you how to pick the right person and how to have a successful date," Sherlock said as if it were the simplest idea in the world.

John released the breath he was holding, going back to his tea. He had no idea what Sherlock had planned but he didn't have anything else to do today so why not indulge him? Who knows -- maybe he might actually pick up something useful. He glanced over at Sherlock and smiled softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, go on then," he agreed.   
  
"Fine," Sherlock said, finishing his tea. "Are you going back to sleep or should we start now?" he asked.

John leaned his head back and sighed. He was so tired but he knew it would be impossible to sleep now. Maybe he could nap later. "We can start now," he said. 

"Well, you have two options. Option A: we spend the day together as I try to find a date for tonight and then you tag along to watch and learn. Option B: you pretend to be someone I don't know, I'll decide if I want to ask you out on a date and if I do, we'll go out and I'll show you how to do it right. You can choose either option, though I personally vote for B since you won't have to explain why you are a third wheel and I won't have to be around someone else. But it's your choice," Sherlock explained.

"B, please," John said.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Okay, first off, obviously if we were just meeting, it wouldn't be in my bed as we are now. So you're going to have to use your imagination a little, all right? I'll fill in the details, but, John, this will only work if you take it seriously. Try to go along with it; otherwise, I'm wasting my time and you'll be stuck in your hopeless situation. Will you try?"

"Sherlock, it's not even six in the morning and I am role playing with you. Of course I am going to try or I might as well be sleeping," he said. 

Sherlock closed his eyes. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "When you open them back up, we'll be at the library. We don't know each other but I've seen you and fancy you a bit. I'll come over to the table where you're sitting and I'll find out whether or not I want to ask you out. That's the first lesson -- be more sensible about whom you ask out. All right, when you open your eyes, I will have just sat down. Open them." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked over at John.

"What are you reading?" Sherlock asked in a quiet voice, nodding a little as if he were noting a book in John's hand.

John listened to Sherlock's description, realising that in this scenario Sherlock was going to try and hit on him. Well, this could be interesting. Sherlock wasn't really into this sort of thing and he wondered what Sherlock considered 'hitting on' to be. When they opened their eyes again John held his hands up like a book. As Sherlock whispered beside him John glanced over. "It's a biography about a World War Two soldier," he whispered back. 

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"It's interesting," John said with a small shrug. "What are you reading?"

"A book about different kinds of ash. Sound interesting?" Sherlock asked.

"Not really," John admitted. "But to each his own," he smiled. 

Good, thought Sherlock. That was a good answer. "What's your name?" Sherlock asked.

"John," he said, smiling a bit wider. He had no idea where this was going. It seemed a bit pointless at the moment. He knew how to interact with other people, and it was a bit ironic that Sherlock was the one trying to show him how to do it properly. "And yours?" 

"It's Sherlock Holmes. Are you thinking of saying something about that being an unusual first name?"

"It's different," John agreed. "But that's not a bad thing." John shifted to lean a bit closer. "What do you do, Sherlock?"

"Science," Sherlock said. "And yourself?"

"I'm a doctor," he said. "I work part time at the local surgery."

"I see," Sherlock said. "And once you've finished here at the library, are you heading straight back to your place?"

"Might get some shopping done while I'm out. Why?"

"Someone waiting for you at home, then?"

John shook his head. "Well, my flatmate might be there but that's only because I said I would bring back milk. What did you have in mind?"

Sherlock leaned in a little to break character. "Don't seem so eager, John. You don't know me from Adam -- just because someone talks to you doesn't mean they deserve you." He sat back again. "What's your flatmate like?" Sherlock asked.

John opened his mouth to respond but then just sighed and slipped back into the game. "He's . . . interesting. A detective," he said. He leaned in like Sherlock had. "Are you using this game to trick me into saying nice things about you?"

"No, this is a pretend scene, John," Sherlock said. "The question was just about making clear that I'm not interested in asking you out if you're in a relationship. You're the one who brought your flatmate into it. Bad move. Quite frankly, I'm intrigued by him. I'm now thinking that perhaps I'll follow you home just in the hopes of meeting him. He sounds fascinating." He smiled a little. "Let's go back and try again." He cleared his throat a little. "Someone waiting for you at home, then?"

John sighed and leaned back as he got into character again. "No, there isn't," he said, shaking his head. 

"Would you like to have dinner together?" Sherlock asked.

John thought for a moment, worrying his answer was going to reveal some other rule or lesson. "Sure, that sounds great," he nodded. 

"Good," Sherlock said smiling. "Shall I pick you up at seven?"

"Let's meet up instead -- where were you thinking?"

"Safety first," Sherlock said, winking, "good thinking." His voice changed. "There's a little Italian called Angelo's. Shall we meet there at seven? Here's my card. Let me know if anything comes up." He handed John a pretend business card.

John took the card and pretended to put it into his book. "That sounds perfect. I will see you then," he said. Something funny happened to him when Sherlock winked at him -- a flashback to that very first meeting -- but he ignored it, trying to stay focused. 

"I'll see you then, John . . . Sorry, what's your surname?" Sherlock asked.

"Watson," he said. "John Watson."

"I'm glad we've met, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I look forward to this evening." He sat back against the headboard again. "Okay, I'm me again now. Explain your reasoning for accepting the offer," he said.

John opened his mouth but then thought for a moment, shrugging. "I don't know. You were nice and attractive. Seemed interesting and I wanted to know more about you," he said.  

"What was interesting about me?" Sherlock asked.

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, hating the fact that he was realising what Sherlock was talking about and dreading the fact that he was going to gloat about being right. Again. "Um . . . the fact that you were reading about ash," he said. 

"What was so interesting about that, John Watson? I happen to know that you find ash very boring. Why would you be interested in someone who is reading about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe they have an interesting job or . . . or looking to give a lecture on the dangers of smoking and I could give my medical advice," he rambled stupidly. "That's why I go on the date -- to find out more."

"All right. Do you want to know why I decided to ask you out?" Sherlock said.

"Yeah, sure," John nodded. 

"Because you're not a liar, you're obviously clever and interested in the world, you're not in a relationship, and you didn't seem too eager," Sherlock said. "And besides, once your flatmate disappeared, there was no one else to ask." He slid back down into the bed. "Fine. That went well. We've got a date at seven. I'll decide then if I want this to go any further. You should plan to do the same." He rolled over on his side. "Should we have a nap now?"

"So that's it? After all of your talk before, this is all it was for? That's exactly what I always do -- you haven't taught me anything!" 

"Should I cancel this date, young man, because now you are lying. You see a pretty woman and go all googly-eyed and stop thinking. If she says yes, then all of a sudden you think that's evidence that the two of you are perfect together. I wouldn't have asked you out if you hadn't passed my tests, John," Sherlock said. "That's the lesson you're supposed to have learned."

"I don't even know what the tests were! You just . . . flirted! You flirted like everyone else," John said, looking over at him. 

"Wrong," Sherlock said, turning over in a humph. "I did not flirt like everyone else. I asked you questions that would lead me to find out 1. if you were a liar, 2. if you were clever, 3. if you were attached, and 4. if I'd be able to tolerate your voice for an extended period. That's what I was doing and what you should have been doing as well -- now and every other time. Instead, you were practically googly-eyed simply because you had a feeling you were going to get asked out." He gave John a serious look. "In five minutes, I discovered you seemed trustworthy, clever, nice and fanciable enough to make me want to spend a few more hours with you finding out more. Are those the same reasons you decided to say yes? Answer me honestly without any back talk, please."

"No. But I can't read people like you can! We ordinary people have to meet with someone a few times to find out if they are trustworthy, clever and fanciable. You asked me leading questions because you know me and you knew what to ask to make me answer certain things. If I really wanted a date, I would say ash was the most interesting thing in the world. And a stranger would have no idea I was lying until they took me to some kind of . . . ash fair and I fell asleep at one of the booths!" He had no idea what he was saying anymore, but he was fired up now. 

"But that's my point, John," Sherlock said. "If you had lied like that, two things could have happened: you'd end up bored out of your mind at an 'ash fair' or I'd have dumped you for being a liar. You set yourself up for failure. If you think ash is so fucking boring, why would you want to go on a date with me at all? The answer is because you fancied me and I asked. That's not good enough, John." He looked up at him. "You are a handsome, interesting man who is honest and good. Someone who dates you should deserve a man like that. Stop focusing on lying to people to get them to date you. Focus on finding someone deserving of you, not just finding someone who'll say yes."

John was thrown by Sherlock's rant, not knowing what to say. He was right -- of course he was right. Doing things like this made him seem desperate and pathetic, and frankly he never wanted to date again. He went into full Sherlock mode, pouting and slouching down. "I don't want to play anymore," he mumbled.

"Shush, now. The date is at seven. We don't need to think about it until six o'clock, okay? Now go back to sleep for a bit so you'll look your best. You don't want those dark circles under your eyes on a first date," he smiled and rolled over, facing away from John.

John crossed his arms, fuming and pouting for a long time. Eventually his sleepiness caught up to him, and he dozed off against his will, falling asleep beside Sherlock. He had a strange dream that he was on a game show, desperately trying to win a prize behind a curtain that he couldn't see. After winning by a landslide the prize was Sherlock, laughing at him for being so foolish. He woke up in a bad mood again. It was just past four in the afternoon. He stretched and got up, set on getting a shower in and hoping his mood would lighten up a bit.

Sherlock was pretty sure he wouldn't sleep again, so he closed his eyes and expected to go to his mind palace. However, now that he was focused less on being bored without a case, his body and brain actually relaxed a bit and he fell into a deep sleep. He didn't stir again until he heard John get up. John didn't say anything, so Sherlock listened to him leave the room. Then he rolled over and thought about the first time he met John. Of course, he knew instantly that John should be in his life, but John's right -- not everyone knows things as quickly as Sherlock does. That's why John investigated and questioned and didn't have to lie and by the end of that first case, John knew they belonged together as well. That's how these things should work. Why couldn't John see that? Sherlock dragged himself out of bed and went into the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

After a long shower John had convinced himself to stop being angry. There was no reason. His dates were not working and Sherlock, being a good friend, was trying to help John figure out why. But for some reason this felt different than friendly advice. If Lestrade had told him to be a little for selective he would have agreed, promised to give it a try and then forgotten about it. But Sherlock . . . he was basically saying the same thing and yet it was worse -- or at least it felt worse. Why? John looked at himself in the mirror. Because it was Sherlock who ruined the dates. John never got a chance to properly get to know anyone because Sherlock called him away, or called them the wrong names, or showed up unexpectedly. Why did it matter how selective he was if Sherlock was going to ruin it? John went to his bedroom for clothes. Of course, he realised he was also to blame. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like spending time with Sherlock, even if it meant losing a date or two. Or twelve _._ He went down for something to eat. He was starving. 

Sherlock was at his desk with a cup of tea when John came in. "Don't spoil your dinner," he said, watching John head to the kitchen. "I'd hate to have a date who refuses to eat -- there's nothing more annoying than that. Are you still mad at me? Try not to be. If you're hostile before the date, this experiment will be useless."

"I'm hungry," John whined lightly. "I was up early and I haven't eaten all day. Can't we do the date now?" He asked.

"If you're not going to do this properly, forget it. I won't waste my time," Sherlock said. "Otherwise, just eat a banana and quit being such a baby." He looked over his email and then glanced at the clock. He shut his laptop and turned towards John. "Have you decided what you're going to wear?"

John grabbed a banana and looked over at him. "Are we actually leaving the flat?" John asked.

"Yes, we're bloody well leaving the flat!" Sherlock said, a bit annoyed. "I am trying to help you, John Watson, and I take helping a friend very seriously. You've already said yes so stop being such a baby. Childish behaviour is extremely unattractive in a mate."

John rolled his eyes. "I thought we were pretending." He took another banana and went to the stairs. "I'm going to go get ready."

"I expect you to put as much effort getting ready for this date as you have for all your others!" Sherlock called after him. He stood up and went into his own room. He pulled out some trousers and flicked through his shirts. He pulled out the purple one and got out some clean socks and pants. He sat down on the bed and flicked through his phone waiting from John to finish in the bathroom.

John rolled his eyes as he shut the door, taking a quick shower to mostly freshen up a bit. When he went to his room, he opened the closet and sighed loudly. Effort. Right. He pulled out a nice pair of black trousers, a button up shirt and a jumper to wear over it. He fussed his hair a bit and headed down, hoping Sherlock didn't send him up to change. It was all pretend anyways.

Sherlock went into the bathroom, showering quickly and fussing a bit with his hair as well. He moved back into the living room and put the kettle on. He poured two cups and brought them over to the table before shifting his chair to face the stairs. When John came out of his room, he did a little whistle. "I'm glad you wore that jumper," he said. "You look suitably handsome for a first date."

John flushed and shook his head. "Shut up," he grumbled. He looked Sherlock up and down and licked his lips lightly, quickly busying himself with his tea. "Where are we going?"

"Angelo's," Sherlock said impatiently. "Did you even listen to anything I said at the library? I'm afraid that's one strike against you, John, and the date hasn't even started yet." He took a sip of tea and then he mumbled into his cup, "You were wearing that jumper the first time we went to Angelo's."

John felt bad because it really seemed like Sherlock was trying so hard. "Sorry about not listening."

Sherlock looked up and made a little smile. "Sorry as well. Look, don't get too worked up, please. I mean, it's a first date so there can be some nerves but I . . . this is supposed to help. I'm not trying to harass you, I promise." He finished his tea and looked at his watch. "Shall we go?" 

"We can go," John nodded. He grabbed his jacket and smiled at Sherlock. "I do appreciate this, even if I'm grumpy," he said quietly.

"In the long run, I probably prefer grumpy to obnoxiously enthusiastic, but you don't know that yet, of course," Sherlock said as he slipped his coat and scarf on. He sniffed the air. "Cologne? Nice touch," he said and headed down the stairs.

They walked along to Angelo's but when they got to the corner, Sherlock stopped. "Go on," he said to John. "You said you wanted us to meet there. You go first." He nodded, pointing towards the door.

"Really? Let's pretend you picked me up and we're walking in together. Please?"

"John," Sherlock sighed. "So wanting to meet there was a lie as well?" He remembered he had promised not to harass John so he said, "Fine. Come on." He walked towards Angelo's and pulled the door open for John to go through. He gave Angelo a little smile.

"It wasn't a lie but it's hard because I know you and it's hard to pretend not to know you." John went inside and took their regular table.

"John," Sherlock said. "That's not fair. What's the point of this then? We already know what it's like to have dinner with each other. You're supposed to be watching me have dinner with someone I don't know so you can see how it's done properly. Please."

"I'm learning! I promise I am. It's just harder for me. I'm sorry." John took a deep breath and tried to get into character. "I've never been here before. What do you recommend?"

"Everything is delicious," Sherlock said. "Provided you like cheese and pasta and also tomatoes. I thought I'd get some wine. Is that all right with you?" He got Angelo's attention and ordered some wine. "A candle, too, please, Angelo," he added, smiling at John 

John flushed lightly when he asked for a candle because no one knew this was pretend except the two of them. But if he was really honest, he didn't mind that much. Even though he knew Angelo was probably already picking out a tuxedo for the wedding. "Wine is perfect," he said to Sherlock. "And the candle is a nice touch. You picked a lovely place."

"I'm glad you like it," Sherlock said. He looked over at John. "So, may I ask, why do you work part time? Are you a rich man?"

John leaned forward and whispered loudly, a bit comically. "Am I allowed to mention you now?"

Sherlock leaned forward and said, "No. I'm here to find out about you. I think you've got plenty of evidence to prove mentioning your fascinating flatmate on a date is not a good strategy." He leaned back and said, "So you're wealthy or lazy or just have other interests that keep you busy?"

"I get a pension from the army so I only work to keep busy," John said as he leaned back again.

"You don't just enjoy taking time off and relaxing?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "It's not really for me," he smiled. "Tell me what you do."

"I figure things out, I suppose," Sherlock said. "I solve cases." He looked over at John. "So a handsome man like you . . . how come you're single? I hope you don't find this too forward of me, but are you a bastard or something? I'm not looking to get my heart broken."

John flushed lightly and looked at his wine, swirling it lightly. Hmmm . . . did Sherlock really think his approach was better than John's? "I guess I haven't found the one yet," he said quietly.

"Spend a lot of time looking?" Sherlock asked.

"I suppose so," he said.

"This is the first date I've ever been on," Sherlock said.

John looked up surprised. "What? Really?"

"I'm not really interested in other people," Sherlock said. "Usually." Angelo set the food down. "Thanks," he said to Angelo and then turned back to John. "But you seem different. And I find that interesting."

"What makes me different?" John asked, looking over at him. 

"Your face," Sherlock said honestly before he realised if he were really on a date, that wouldn't be a good answer. He smiled a little awkwardly. "Your food all right?" he asked.

"Tell me," John insisted. "Tell me something that makes me different -- that made you go out with me. Something that you didn't already know before your little experiment today." If John had to pretend Sherlock was a stranger and act appropriately, then Sherlock had to as well. 

"Your eyes," Sherlock said, looking away, down at his food. "They're . . . pretty." He felt his face redden a bit -- maybe he shouldn't have ordered the wine.

"Sorry? My wanting to go out with you because you had interesting reading material wasn't good enough but my pretty eyes were?" John asked. He sipped at his wine. "I don't know if I should be taking advice from you," he teased. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Doctor Watson. I'm not here to give you advice," Sherlock said. "I thought we were just having dinner to get to know each other."

"I'm serious," he said, leaning forward again to break character. "You yelled at me and now you're not following your own advice," he said. 

"You know, you're supposed to just be observing me, not critiquing me," Sherlock said. "Besides, I know precisely what I am doing -- what are you talking about?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm talking about your ridiculous date behaviour. You know very well if I came home and told you I was taking someone out just because they had pretty eyes, you would laugh me out of the flat," he said. "You are admitting that sometimes you are attracted to someone and even if that's the only thing that interests you, you are going to go for it anyways and learn more later. By going on a date. Like I do," he rambled. 

"God, John, you are so blind sometimes. Wrong lesson," Sherlock said. "I told you earlier why I asked you out. However, what you just asked me was for something I didn't already know. Truthfully, I did already know you were clever and interesting and that your voice was tolerable. I didn't know . . . the other thing." He looked over at John. "That's the lesson: honesty, especially if it's flattering." He smiled a little. "Pay better attention for the rest of the night, please."

"I don't know what to pay attention to," he said. "I can't read people like you. Whoever I ask out it's just going to be . . . well, I hope this one's not a weirdo. People lie, put on a little show to get asked out. Then it's just . . . hoping the lie is small enough to keep someone around." He sighed and started eating.

"I don't lie, John," Sherlock said. He fiddled with his food and then took a sip of his wine. "Can we get back to the date, please?"

John stared at him for a moment and felt like he was hiding something. "Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. He leaned back and continued eating. "So . . . cases huh?" 

"Why did you say yes then?" Sherlock said.

"Why did I say yes about what?" John asked. "Going out?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Did you say yes to play this game or prove me wrong or because a date with me is better than no date or what? Why did you really say yes to this?"

"I . . . have we stopped role playing? Are you asking why I agreed to a lesson?"

"No, I mean when we were in character earlier, at the library. I was a stranger then but you said yes to dinner. Why?"

"I told you already -- I wanted to learn more about you. You seemed interesting, confident and smart."

"But those are all things you already knew."

John shrugged. "No. You were reading a book about ash -- interesting. You approached me -- confident. You asked me out -- smart. Prior to the library, I'd have never used those words to describe you." He grinned and poured more wine for both of them.

"Yes, I was right," Sherlock said, looking a bit disappointed. "Honesty is much more effective when it's flattering." Sherlock finished the wine in one long drink. "I like to walk after my meal, Doctor Watson. Will you join me?" Sherlock said as he stood, threw some money on the table and put his coat on. He turned and left the restaurant.

John watched him leaving and he hurried to follow. It was getting very difficult to determine what was fake and what wasn't. He caught up and slipped his hand into Sherlock's. "I like to hold hands," he said quietly.

"Let's not talk for a little while," he said, squeezing John's hand. They walked along the streets for a bit and then Sherlock led them home to the flat. He unlocked the door and let John go through. After he shut the door, grabbed John's arm and pushed him back against the door softly. "Would you like to know the real reason I asked you out on this date, John?" he asked him.

"Sherlock--" John said with surprise, looking up at him. What was happening? He really couldn't tell anymore. "Why?" he asked. 

"So I could do this," Sherlock said and he leaned in and kissed John's mouth. There was a softness to it that turned slightly less restrained as the kiss went on. Then he pulled his head back and said, "Thank you for a lovely date, John Watson. I hope we'll be able to do it again sometime soon." He dipped his head and turned to head up the stairs. "We'll debrief with tea, yeah?" he called down as he went into the kitchen to make some.

John stood there against the door, his mouth slightly open in shock. Kissed. Sherlock had just kissed him. Or had fake Sherlock kissed him? Did Sherlock invent this game to kiss John or fake John from the library? He cleared his throat softly and pushed away from the door. He wasn't sure he liked this game anymore.

"All right," Sherlock said, bringing in two mugs of tea and sitting down in his chair across from the sofa. "That seemed like a successful date, don't you think? Let's look back over what I did to guarantee its success. What was the first thing you observed?"

John sat in his chair and sipped at his tea. "First thing . . .you dressed nicely," he said, looking over at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled. "I did," he said. "The shirt you like." He looked over at John. "I asked about you at dinner. But I bet you ask about the women, don't you? What was different about the way I did it?" 

John threw him a look. "You can't pretend and use real facts together. You're not good at this," he grumbled. He sighed softly. "You asked specifically . . . like you remembered everything I told you."

"I do remember everything you tell me. Because I genuinely listen. I don't doubt that normally instead of listening to actual answers, you are too busy thinking of what question to ask next." He took a sip of tea. "Anything else you noticed?"

John shook his head. "You tell me what I learned today," he said.

"Do you know why I kissed you downstairs?" Sherlock asked.

John looked up at met his gaze. Game. What was the game answer? Was there a non-game answer? He shook his head no.

"Because I wanted to. You should never do anything on a date you don't actually want to do. And there's your last lesson of the evening." He went to the kitchen and brought some biscuits back, taking one out and setting the rest on the table. "I'm sorry, John. All of this was just meant to help. I hate seeing you disappointed all the time." He took a small bite of biscuit.

"Right. I'm going to take all of this information and process it all and I'll go on better dates." He stood and took his mug to the sink. "I'm off to bed now. Thanks," he said a bit awkwardly as he passed by.

"Good night, John," Sherlock said. "Thank you for being my first ever date." He stood up and went to bed as well.


	4. No Qualms About Punching An Old Woman's Face To Protect My Quarry

John was sitting on his bed, looking away from the packed little suitcase he had to the invitation in his hand. _John Watson plus one_. When it first came John had been seeing Jessica for almost a month so he had invited her along. He sent the card in to reserve their seats and then, just a week before the wedding, she dumped him. Another case had come up, he had cancelled a date, and that seemed to be the final straw. There was no way he would find another date that would be willing to go to a wedding with him on such short notice, especially on an overnight stay. He looked at his little suitcase again. He sighed softly and left the invitation on top of it, heading down to the sitting room. "Hey, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was lounging on the sofa listening to John moving around in his bedroom. "Yes, John?" he said, knowing that what was coming next was a favour request of some sort. John's voice always did a thing when he needed something from Sherlock.

"I was wondering . . . well, I already RSVPed two spots for that wedding and now that . . . well, do you want to go with me instead?" He was worried he already knew the answer: this was everything Sherlock hated. 

"Why have you been dumped, John?" Sherlock said, sitting up. "I thought you had been taking my dating advice? You went out with this one a number of times, what did you do wrong?"

"I didn't do anything wrong!" he said defensively. He was regretting coming down and asking at all. "I just . . . came on that case with you and she dumped me."

"Oh I see, so you're blaming me and now this is my punishment? You're a cruel man, John Watson," Sherlock said. He looked over at John, who looked a little small and pathetic. "Weddings are like nightmares to me, John -- people and food and . . . happiness. Those aren't really my specialties.

"It's fine. I'm sorry I asked," he said. He started up the stairs again. Maybe he'd skip the wedding and have a one day holiday. He really didn't want to show up alone.  A holiday would be nice now that he thought about it.

Sherlock followed John upstairs. "If I come, do I have to talk people other than you?" he said, sitting down on John's bed.

John watched him sit down. "Maybe. But I'll try and fend them off as best as I can," he offered.

"Do I have to smile?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, that would be helpful so people didn't think I was torturing you."

"If I come along, though, it will be a kind of torture," Sherlock said. "I'll just stay in the room if the smiling gets too relentless. Fine. I'll come. Mainly because it means you'll owe me now and that's worth it," he stood up and disappeared into his room to get some clothes together.

"If you come you can't stay in the room the whole time because then I might as well go alone," John said. He ignored the last bit because really, when did Sherlock ever have trouble getting him to do things for him?

Sherlock returned with a bag and threw it on the sofa. "Fine, I'll leave the room occasionally," he said. "And before you ask, I've not crumpled my fancy pants wedding clothes into that bag. I'll take that suit," he added, motioning towards his bedroom door where his garment bag hung. "You're not planning on treating me like a child the whole time, are you?"

"If you act like one I will," John said pointedly. "All you have to do is behave properly at the ceremony and just look like you're having a good time at the reception. We don't have to stay that long because I hate those things," John said.

"Fine, but I'd like to work in a bit of pouting. I mean, what's the point of doing something I don't want to do unless I get to pout about it?" Sherlock said, sitting down. "When are we leaving?"

"Couple hours. I thought we could have dinner first." 

"All right then," Sherlock said. "You're not going to pull at the wedding and leave me on my own, are you? Please don't."

"No Sherlock. I'm not going to do that to you after you're doing me the honour of coming along as my guest," he smiled.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "And if I find someone, I promise we'll go to their room instead of ours to have sex, all right?" He looked over at John and pulled a face before standing up. "Let's get a move on," he said. They went down to the cafe on the corner and ate before returning to pick up their bags. They made their way down to the station and got onto the train. Sherlock tried to settle into his seat but as soon as John sat down, Sherlock said, "I'm bored and uncomfortable. Help me." He made an overly pathetic face.

"I can't help you because we're on a train. Why don't you try taking a nap and by the time you wake up we'll be there," John smiled.

"Oh my god, we're barely out of London and you're already being mean to me," Sherlock said. He fiddled in his seat again. "Fine, but I'll need you to tell me a story -- your stories always put me to sleep. Tell me one of your date stories," he yawned. "Too late, just thinking about one of your dates is already boring me." He pulled a face at John and turned in his seat, resting his head a bit and closing his eyes. Then he quickly turned his head back and said, "Don't do anything to me while I'm asleep."

"Sherlock, you're going to make me throw you right off of this train. I know you don't want to go but you don't have to be mean to me either. Now go to sleep and I will wake you up when we get there," John said. He kicked him lightly and smiled.

"I'm teasing you, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Don't be such a grump." He put his head down again and closed his eyes, finding refuge in his mind palace until he fell to sleep.

John watched Sherlock as he fell asleep across from him. He looked so . . . innocent sleeping against the window that John started feeling guilty for being mean again. But Sherlock had been mean first . . . god, John realised, they were both like children. He sighed softly. He took his jacket off and slowly put it under Sherlock's head so he wasn't so bent over. "Sorry," he whispered. He sat back in his own seat and pulled out his book. When they arrived he looked over at Sherlock and kicked his leg lightly. "Sherlock? We're here," he said. 

Sherlock shifted in his seat. "I wasn't sleeping," he said, even though he obviously had been. "What did I miss? What's going on? Where are we?" He rubbed his hand over his face. "Sorry, I remember now." He wiggled again and stood up. "Come on then. Let's a find a cab and get to the hotel." He gave John a sleepy smile.

John took his jacket from where it had slipped onto the seat, putting it back on before following Sherlock out onto the platform. He hailed a cab and luckily the hotel was close. He yawned and looked over at Sherlock. "You'll let me sleep, yeah? I shouldn't have let you nap."

"Of course, why would I interrupt your sleep?" Sherlock asked. He stretched a little. "What are we going to do when we get there? Should we go for a walk or something? What time is it?"

"It's past midnight. I was hoping to get some sleep," John admitted. After he checked in and got the room key, he led the way up. That was when he remembered the bed. The one bed. Because he should have had his girlfriend here with him. He cleared his throat softly and unlocked the door, pushing it open for Sherlock first.

Sherlock walked in, dropped his case and hung up the garment bag. He flopped down on the bed. "Sleep is boring. Don't be boring," Sherlock said. He stretched out. "Though this bed is quite nice," he said. "Where's yours?"

John put his bag down at the end of the bed. "You're lying on it," he said. He bent down to get his pajamas, changing beside the bed as he watched Sherlock process what that meant. 

"We have to sleep in the same bed? For the whole night?" Sherlock said. "But that'll mean . . . that'll mean you're gay, John. Everyone knows two men in the same bed proves you're gay. Oh my god, John, this is groundbreaking news," Sherlock said, laughing a bit because he found himself quite hilarious at the moment. "And now you're stripping off as well! John, what would Mrs Hudson say?"

John continued to get dressed quietly. When he was all done he looked up. "You're right. I didn't know how to tell you but you figured me out. Such a genius," he said sarcastically. He pushed at Sherlock and climbed into bed, turning away from him as he got comfortable.

Sherlock stood up and moved to get his pajamas. "If you're making me go to bed so early, you'd better be prepared to entertain me. I was thinking you could help me with an experiment -- I'm trying to determine if I could strangle a man with just one hand. If you don't like that idea, come up with something else while I'm in here," he said, nodding towards the bathroom. "Some people like to maintain a little dignity and not display their nudity to all and sundry." He took his pajamas and toiletries into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

John rolled his eyes and crawled into bed, staying well on his side as he pulled the covers up to his neck. He closed his eyes and wondered if he could be asleep before Sherlock came back out. Not likely, but he tried anyways.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom and got into bed. He lay quietly for all of three seconds and then said, "I know you're not asleep, John. Talk to me, please."

John turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "I think I'm addicted to coming on cases with you. I can't stop. And I don't think anyone is ever going to be okay with it." The words surprised him for a moment because he hadn't really been thinking about that, but being at the wedding with Sherlock seemed to emphasize the reason why.

Sherlock thought for a second and then said, "I doubt it's me or even the cases that are the issue, John. You like having to think, and you like excitement. And it's probably the danger as well. That's what the cases give you. When you were in the Army, I bet you didn't mope around, thinking if only I could go on cases with Sherlock Holmes. There, you were thinking, you were doing exciting and dangerous things. Find someone who offers you those things, or at the very least respects your desire for those things, and you'll be fine." He swallowed and was silent for a moment. Then he rolled on his side towards John and said, "Any other problems you want me to solve for you?" He smiled.

John shoved his arm but didn't look over at him. He smiled softly though. "No thank you," he said quietly.

"Well, I'm not sleepy, John. We could either work on the strangling with one hand experiment or perhaps you could help me with a problem that I'm having," Sherlock said, rolling onto his back again.

"Let's do the second one," John said, glancing over at him.

"Fine, well, as you know, I don't have much experience in the friend department, and I'm having a problem with a friend of mine and I'm not sure how to handle it," Sherlock said. This time he rolled over so his back was facing John.

John looked at the back of his head for a moment. "What's wrong with your friend?" he asked quietly.

"Well, he seems sad a lot. And normally other people's feelings . . . are of no interest to me, but I presume because we are friends, that's why it's upsetting me and I don't really know what to do."

John bit his lip. His stomach was squirming guiltily again. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Then in a normal voice he spoke as if he hadn't before. "Maybe your friend needs to sort out his head a bit and stop being a child," he said.

"Well, that's what I was thinking but he hasn't done that yet. Which upsets me. And, if I'm honest, frustrates me a bit, too. For example, he had to go to this wedding and he was going to go with a woman but that didn't pan out so he invited me to come along. Instead of thinking about how two friends could enjoy some time away, he mainly was just thinking about how pathetic he was that he had to bring a friend instead of a date to a wedding. There's no reason for him to feel bad really -- plus it makes me feel a bit sad that he can't just enjoy being with his friend."

John turned so his back was facing Sherlock. "Maybe that's not what he meant. Maybe he just worries too much about other things."

"Well, maybe," Sherlock said. "I just wish he didn't worry at all -- whatever he's worried about. Let's just try to enjoy being here. Can you try, John?"

"I didn't mean to make you feel like I wasn't enjoying your company. There's just things going on in my head and I'm sorry I took them out on you," he said.

"Fine, you're forgiven," Sherlock said, rolling over. "Shall we do the strangling now?" he added, looking over towards John and smiling.

John grinned and hummed softly. "Looks like your friend fell asleep -- sorry."

"God, he's annoying," Sherlock said. He rolled back over. "Good night, John."

"Good night, Sherlock," John said quietly.

Sherlock lay quietly on the bed for a while. Then he reached for his phone and checked his email, before rolling over and thinking about the work he could have been doing at home and then hoping it was a good thing he'd come. Eventually he drifted to sleep.

John listened to Sherlock moving around for a long time before he drifted off to sleep himself.

Halfway through the night, Sherlock woke up. Bored. He reached over and fiddled with John's hair in the hopes that he'd wake up and entertain Sherlock. But he didn't. So Sherlock slipped out of bed and moved to their chair where he sat looking at his phone for a bit and then stared out the window. Eventually he felt his eyes staying closed longer during each blink so he got back in bed and went to sleep again.

When John woke up in the morning he slipped out of bed and started making the tea given to them by the hotel. It wasn't their usual, but he hoped it would taste all right enough to get them by the morning. He peeked over at Sherlock sleeping.

Sherlock slowly woke to the movement in the room. "Sleep okay?" he asked as he sat up and stretched. "Thanks," he said as John brought over the tea. "I thought the bed was pretty comfortable even with you in it."

John rolled his eyes. "Now I'm glad the tea isn't your favourite brand," he teased. He moved into the chair and turned the news on.

Sherlock watched the television for a few minutes and then lost interest. "So what are the plans for the day? Whatever Sherlock wants to do? Please?" he said.

"There isn't much time. By the time we get breakfast and get ready it's time for the ceremony. But I think there's three hours in between to do whatever you want," he said.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "But I don't smile before noon. I'm sorry -- that's just always been my motto and I'm not changing it for this wedding." He drank his tea, without making a move to get up. "Have you thought of something we could do to make this whole debacle more fun? We could pretend I don't speak English -- that would be fun and guarantee I don't have to speak to anyone. What do you think?"

"And how do we explain us talking?" John asked, smiling softly. "Why don't you show off your dance moves? Leave all the girls swooning on the floor?" He grinned as he drank his tea.

"Fine, I will," Sherlock said. "Did you bring any whiskey? I'll need to start drinking early if swooning is going to be involved." He set his mug down and got up. He headed towards the bathroom, asking, "Do we wear our fancy clothes to breakfast or come back and change?"

"We'll come back and change. We can have free breakfast right here at the hotel," John said.

"Do I have to get dressed at all then? I'll put my dressing gown on," Sherlock said.

"No! No, Sherlock there's people down there. Something appropriate, please?" John asked.

"I'm not having fun yet," Sherlock said, disappearing into the bathroom. When he finished his shower, he got dressed and came out. "Go make yourself pretty and hurry up before I get myself into some mischief," he said, starting to make himself another cup of tea.

"I'm going to shower after breakfast," John said. He threw on the clothes he's been traveling in the night before and led the way down to the breakfast the hotel offered. He filled up his plate, a little bit of everything, and he ate quickly. It was crowded, more so than he thought it would be so he was glad they weren't down there for very long. He took a quick shower back at the room and changed in the corner by the bed again. He ruffled his hair a bit in the mirror and turned to Sherlock. "Ready?"

Sherlock watched John finish get ready. "You look very handsome," he said. "She was a fool," he added quietly. He stood up and waited for John to lead them out. "I still haven't made a final decision about the whole I-can't-speak-English thing. Or maybe a mute. Introduce me as your mute friend, please," he said, grinning stupidly.

"Nope. And if you don't behave yourself I'm going to tell everyone that you want to give a toast," he warned playfully. 

"I don't even know these people," he said. He held the back of John's coat. "Don't make me talk to people," he said quietly. "Just stay with me, okay?"

"Have I ever let you down?" John asked. "Don't answer that," he added quickly as he hailed a cab. He fished out the envelope from his pocket and gave the man the address before sitting back in his seat again. 

Sherlock got out of the cab at the church and looked around. He looked over at John and nodded at a couple loitering at the door. "The bride's parents -- they'll be divorced within six months," he said and then followed John into the church.

"Make sure you whisper things like that only to me," he said quietly. He knew better than to try to make Sherlock stop completely. 

"I was going to make it part of my toast," Sherlock said, smiling. They took a seat near the back. "How do you know these people anyway?"

"I was at uni with the groom. We roomed together for a year before he switched his area of study to law and he moved into another building. He found me again through the blog," John explained.

"John, I just fell asleep for a moment while you were talking," Sherlock said. John rolled his eyes.

Eventually, the music began and Sherlock said, "Finally."

John sighed loudly enough to show that he was properly annoyed. This was one of the times he regretted bringing Sherlock anywhere. He stood and turned his back to Sherlock, taking slow breaths to calm down. He smiled as the bride passed by and when he sat down he kept his eyes pointedly forward. 

"Why didn't you date her?" Sherlock whispered to John. "She looks . . . friendly."

"Shh," John said simply, leaning for a better look. He couldn't hear anything. 

Sherlock sat quietly. He thought about John snapping at him and then went over in his head all the times John had snapped at him. Then he thought about the trip to Dartmoor and then a few other adventures and then everyone was applauding and the music began again. "That was less painful than I'd been expecting," he whispered to John.

John merely glanced over at him, watching the couple pass by their aisle. He waved at his friend and then waited to be dismissed. It seemed to take forever. John had a quick chat with his friend as they congratulated the couple and then they were in the street again, hailing a cab. "Now you can do what you want. A nap?"

"I'm not sleepy now," Sherlock said. "A nap was only an option because I assumed I'd be exhausted from all the fun we had. I've not had fun yet, John."

"Well, I'm sorry. Maybe you will have fun when there's dancing and you will sleep better tonight." 

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "Are we going back to the hotel now?" He relaxed a bit on the taxi's seat -- he just felt a thousand times more comfortable alone with John than he had at the church, even though he hadn't had to speak to anyone.

"Yeah, we have a little while before the reception and like I said, we don't have to stay long for that," he said. When they got to the hotel he hung his jacket and sat in the chair, turning the telly on to pass some time. 

Sherlock took off his jacket as well and flopped onto the bed, looking at the television. "Did you ever date that woman?" he asked. "The wife, I mean?"

"No, I didn't. I don't even know her, Sherlock." 

"Do you know any of the women who'll be at this thing?"

"Nope. I only know the groom, I told you that," John reminded him. 

"Would you like me to check out the women at the reception to locate the one who is most ideally suited to be your life partner?"

"No," John shook his head. "While that sounds extremely helpful, this is hardly the place to do that. I want to do it . . . naturally, even if that means some suffering along the way. And anyways, I promised I wouldn't leave you." 

"So you are suffering?" Sherlock asked. "I was right -- this makes you sad all the time, doesn't it?"

"No! No, I just meant -- well, the breakups are never easy but I'm not constantly sad." 

"I don't want you to ever be sad," Sherlock said softly. He rolled over on his side away from the chair. "Maybe I will nap a little -- just to get energy for the dancing, of course."

"Of course," John said quietly. He watched Sherlock for a little while before turning back to the telly. He made a mental note to make the reception a blast for both of them -- no matter what anyone thought or said. He was going to make sure when they left there would be no doubt that he was happy spending time with Sherlock.

Sherlock did fall asleep and didn't wake up until he heard John saying his name. He rolled over and then slowly stood up. "Do I have to shower again? Do I look too crumpled?" he said, trying to sort himself.

"You didn't move around too much -- I think you look good," John smiled. He shook out his coat and pulled it on. "I was thinking after all of the boring speeches you could show me how to dance -- properly, I mean."

"Perhaps," Sherlock said. "We'll see how drunk I am by then." He grinned as he put his jacket back on and headed for the door.

Once they arrived at the hall, the noise and people overwhelmed Sherlock a little but he stayed close to John. They found their places at a table near the back. No one else was seated yet, and Sherlock wished that no one else would come.

"I know that all the tables are full, but a lot of times people don't get chatty until they start drinking and by then they are moving to other tables anyways," John assured him. He watched everyone walking in and searching for seats, hoping that everyone who joined their table would be fairly normal and quiet. When everyone was finally seated, the wedding party made their way in to music. They went straight into the speeches and eventually they started sending up a table at a time to get food for dinner. 

Sherlock didn't meet the eyes of anyone at their table. He watched with glazed vision as people gave their speeches and the bride and groom were toasted. He stayed close to John as they moved to get their food, only putting a few things on his plate. "I'll go get our drinks," he said, handing his plate to John. He went to the bar and got two whiskeys. He set them down at the table and also poured them each a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. "Let's get drunk, but not sick," he whispered to John.

John nodded, clinking his glass to Sherlock's. He smiled up at him as he took a big sip, digging into his food. 

"How do you know the couple?"

John looked over at the woman beside him, smiling and waiting for an answer. "I went to uni with the groom," he said. She looked over at Sherlock but he continued on. "This is my date. He doesn't speak English," he said on the fly. 

Sherlock smiled stupidly at the woman and then reached over and squeezed John's arm. He fiddled with his food a bit, eating a little. Every time he looked up at John, he felt like smiling so he did.

John refilled their whiskeys, whispering into his ear so no one would question the English. After a few more drinks and the ridiculous cake cutting scene, the music picked up and more than half the guests were up dancing.

Sherlock's head was a bit relaxed -- partly by the whiskey but also by the fact that he knew he wouldn't have to speak to anyone. "Dance?" he said quietly in a made up accent so on the slight chance someone heard him, they couldn't guess where he was supposedly from. He stood up and held out his hand to John.

John swallowed the rest of his whiskey before taking Sherlock's hand and nodding. "What are you going to teach me?" He smiled, speaking quietly.

"How to not care what other people think of you," Sherlock said, pulling John close to him. He slid his hands to John's lower back and began to move their bodies. He lowered his mouth to John's ear and whispered, "Act like you are the world's greatest dancer. Or act like I'm holding you hostage. Or act like you can't wait to get me to bed. Act however you feel like acting because we'll probably never see any of these people again and what they think of us doesn't matter. Have fun without caring what anyone thinks of you." He twirled them around once and lifted his head and smiled at John's face.

John smiled back and pressed close again, dancing easily with Sherlock. He pressed his forehead to Sherlock's chest for a moment before looking back up. He had an urge to look around but he fought it. It didn't matter. He only looked up at Sherlock, dancing as best as he could and hoping it was good enough. 

When a slower song came on, Sherlock held up one of John's hands to the side and kept dancing. Some older people came onto the floor, and a few of the ladies tried to catch Sherlock's eyes and smiled at him. He gave a little smile back. "You're a good dancer, John," he said quietly.

John stayed close as they danced slowly, smiling up at him. "I wouldn't say good, but I am managing," he said. "I think these girls are getting a bit jealous of me though," he teased. 

"I think they fancy you," Sherlock said. "A nice young boy who is a good dancer and looks after his weird, foreign friend. I think they're thinking, if only I were forty years younger." His hand around John's waist pulled him a little closer. "I'll fight them off I need to. I have no qualms about punching an old woman in the face to protect my quarry."

John laughed and hid his face in Sherlock's chest again, much easier now that they were pressed together again. "I think you're the one they are looking at --tall, handsome stranger from a faraway land. They're going to throw me out to get to you."

"I doubt it, John," Sherlock said. "I've been mouthing insults at people since we started dancing. I'm planning on getting drunk enough to start threatening anyone who talks to you with a broken glass bottle."

"Oh God, let's not get that drunk, yeah? Just keep up the insults and we'll be okay," John smiled wide. 

"I am a bit drunk, John," Sherlock said. "I hate whiskey actually. . ." His voice trailed as his mind wandered. "Remember Dartmoor?" he asked. "That was a nice trip. Except for the unpleasant stuff, but some was nice, wasn't it?"

John nodded. "Some of it was really nice," he murmured. "You admitted I was your friend," he smiled, looking up at Sherlock. 

"You are my friend, John," Sherlock said, dropping their hands and holding John around the back again. He gave him a little squeeze. "I'm bored of dancing. Can we leave, please?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I think we've been here long enough," he said. Without thinking he took Sherlock's hand as he led the way to the door. "Oh! Hold on." He hurried back to tell his friend he was leaving, fending off Sherlock's complaints and managing to break away. When he got to Sherlock again he took his hand and went out to get a cab. 

Back at the hotel, Sherlock went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He drank a full glass of water and brought another one back to set on the bedside table. "I should have eaten more," he mumbled and then crawled into the bed.

"Are you still hungry? I could get some food if you want," John said as he took his suit off. He climbed into bed.

"No, just drunk and suddenly incredibly sleepy," Sherlock said. He reached over and turned off the lamp. He closed his eyes but felt the room spin a little. "God, I hate whiskey," he mumbled and then turned and curled around John as if to steady his head. "I had fun, though, thank you for not making me talk to anyone. Dancing was fun, did you like dancing? Did you have fun?" he rambled.

"I did have fun. I liked dancing with you," John said.

"You're the only one I like dancing with," Sherlock said. He lifted a hand and clumsily stroked John's face. "I like doing everything with you. You're my best friend."

John leaned into his hand lightly and nodded. "You're my best friend, too," he murmured. 

"Remember when I kissed you? I liked kissing you," Sherlock said, shifting himself to lie at least partly on top of John. "Let's kiss tonight. We've had fun and danced and it doesn't matter what other people think." He moved his mouth and put kisses on John's neck.

John tilted his head. "Um . . . um, all right."

Sherlock kissed John's mouth sloppily, his hands moving to grip John's arms. "I only like kissing you," he said before kissing his mouth again.

John let Sherlock lead the kiss, following easily. Because of the drinking, he didn't have to think and he just let himself be kissed.

Sherlock moved his hips a little against John's. It felt good and he wasn't thinking, he didn't have to think, he was just feeling good with his best friend, John. He kissed him harder, lifting a hand to grip the back of John's head.

John moaned loudly, bucking up against Sherlock without a second thought. It felt good -- he pulled Sherlock closer, harder. 

Sherlock pressed again against John's body, rolling his hips and then dropping his head to suck on John's neck. His hand moved through John's hair. "John," he moaned softly into his skin.

John gasped and panted softly, clutching at Sherlock's hair as he bucked up against him. He felt heat spreading through his body.

Sherlock moaned at the pressure of John's body against him and kissed him hard once more. Then he rolled to John's side, tangling their legs. "That was good," he said, catching his breath. "I liked that. Let's go to sleep now." He settled his head onto the pillow, staying close against John.

John panted softly as the kiss ended, turning his head to lean on Sherlock's. He closed his eyes with a small sigh. That had been interesting. And nice. He started dozing off, his head feeling a bit heavy from the drinking and the kissing.

Sherlock fell to sleep quite quickly -- there was no time for him to think and no energy for dreams. When he woke up, he was still curled around John. He stroked his face for a second, before rolling over and sitting up. His head hurt and he slowly moved to the bathroom. When he returned, he sat down on the bed and said, "What time do we have to check out, John?"

John groaned softly when he felt the bed moving and he turned on his side, pulling the covers up a bit. He tried to fall back asleep but then Sherlock was speaking and he was forced into being awake and listening. "Eleven . . . just let me sleep a bit longer," he mumbled. His head didn't hurt, but it felt heavy and pressured.

"It's just gone ten," Sherlock said. "You can sleep until the kettle boils." After a few minutes, he got up and poured two cups of tea, bringing them both back to bed. "Wake up now," he said lightly.

John sighed and flopped onto his back, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. "Thanks," he grumbled, taking his tea from Sherlock.

"Last night . . ." Sherlock started, not sure precisely what to say. ". . . was fun. Yeah?"

John looked over at him and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah . . . drinking always leads to some interesting times," he smiled.

"It _was_ interesting," Sherlock said, looking over and smiling as well. "Well, at least you got a little action during this trip," he added. "Rest assured, I have no plans to dump you. Unless you refuse to take me back to London. I think the fresh air has given me this headache."

"The fresh air," John repeated. "It couldn't possibly have been the whiskey," he added as he got up to get dressed.

Sherlock pulled a little face at John before standing up. "I need to shower," he said and went into the bathroom. He got dressed and came back into the room, throwing everything into his bag. "I'm ready," he said. "I'll lie down until you are." He pulled the blankets up and lay down on top of them. He definitely felt better when he was horizontal.

"I am going to shower back at the flat later," he said, packing up his bag.

"Fine," Sherlock said. They made their way out of the hotel and then to a cab and eventually the train without really saying much. Once on the train, Sherlock curled in his seat as he had on the way there and tried to sleep. "Wake me up when we're home and my head no longer hurts, okay?" he asked John. "And don't let me drink whiskey. And promise me you sometimes feel happy, John."

John nodded. "I promise I'll wake you up and I can only hope your head won't be hurting." He offered a smile and then looked out of his window, ignoring the last comment.

"You make me happy," Sherlock said, turning his head and snuggling into the seat a bit more. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

John opened his mouth to answer back but Sherlock was already asleep. Or pretending to be. "You make me happy too," he said, not caring which one was true. He looked out of his window again and leaned his forehead against it. He drifted off as well, rocking lightly with the train.


	5. I Don't Think We Should Talk About This One

Sherlock had seen the woman out, but as he made his way back up the stairs, he hoped that John's attitude had changed. He wasn't quite sure why John was so grumpy; undoubtedly it was because of a woman, and Sherlock was annoyed that John was taking it out on him -- and possibly a client. Yes, the woman's case was boring -- she wanted to know if her husband was having an affair when very obviously he was -- but still a client was a client and John could have at least pretended to be interested. Strange -- John had told Sherlock off for the same thing so many times.

Actually, now that Sherlock thought about it, John had been off for more than a week now. He quickly tried to think back to what could have caused this, but in truth all of John's unsuccessful dates kind of merged into one for Sherlock. And besides, John hadn't brought it up so he obviously didn't want to talk about it.

Sherlock went back into the flat and into the kitchen, where he opened a bottle of wine, bringing it and two glasses into the sitting room. He filled each with wine and then sat down in his chair across from John on the sofa. "This should be an easy one. He's obviously having an affair, don't you think?" he asked John as he pushed the glass towards him.

John took two sips before looking over at him and nodding. "Well, given the evidence she gave us I wonder why she even came here. And how careless of him -- he must have wanted to get caught."

"Well, the signs are there . . . the trips, the secretive texts . . . his changing sexual tastes. What do you think she was referring to when she said he wanted 'new and disgusting things'?" he asked.

"Could be anything. People have a different scale of what they find disgusting," John said. "What do you think she meant?"

"Well, she didn't strike me as very adventurous in the bedroom. Did you get a similar vibe?"

John nodded. "Especially because she wouldn't even say penis. I mean, she just went quiet and motioned vaguely." He grinned suddenly as he remembered it, taking another swallow of wine.

"I bet it wasn't anything disgusting at all. I bet all the poor sod suggested was a blowjob and she freaked out," Sherlock said. "Maybe he's not cheating at all, maybe he's just desperate for a little oral." He tried to smile a little to see if John's mood had lightened.

"Who isn't?" John grinned. He finished his wine and poured a bit more. "But like I said, some people find that too much."

"She was clearly a smoker -- she'll put chemicals in her mouth but not her husband's penis?" Sherlock said. He finished his wine and topped up his glass. "What's the big deal? That's the real mystery here." He laughed a little at himself.

John narrowed his eyes a bit. "It's not really a big deal at all . . . I don't know why people are so against it."

Hmmm, Sherlock thought. Is John still talking about the client or could he be referring to whatever woman had put him in this mood for the last week? "Well, I'm sure you'll find someone to do it for you," he said softly, taking another drink of wine. "Are you as enthusiastic about giving as you are about receiving?"

"Depends on the partner I suppose," he said with a small shrug. Did Sherlock know what they got up to in the army sometimes?

"You mean some women don't like to get it either?"

"Some women might be self-conscious about it, but I don't only mean women."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said, sitting forward and topping up his glass again. "You've never given a blowjob in your life."

John grinned smugly. "You really think so? Just because you never have -- don't project your prudishness on me."

"Why on earth would you suggest that? For all you know, I might've given one this morning," Sherlock said.

"We were both home this morning so no you didn't," John said.

"I meant yesterday morning. Or whatever day you went to work. You left and a line of men came in here and I blew them all," Sherlock said. "And three of them said they'd ask you for one and you refused. So there." Why on earth was he saying this? He drank some more wine.

"How did they ask me for one if I was at work? And I wouldn't have refused if they were handsome," he countered.

"You lie," Sherlock said. "I'll go out and find you a handsome man right now and I know you'd _never_ do it."

"I would! I have before," John insisted. "And I would be better than you!"

"There's very little you're better at that me, John, except for jumper wearing obviously," he shifted a little in his chair. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about the idea that John had been with a man before -- why was he always chasing women? John had never once showed any interest in a man before. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure John was telling the truth now.

"I don't believe you have, John," Sherlock said calmly. "I don't know why you're turning this into a competition, especially one you'd undoubtedly lose."

"I am not turning it into a competition. But if it was one, I would not lose," he said.

"You would lose, John," Sherlock said. "Just because you're good at watching blowjob porn doesn't mean you'd be good at giving one. It's a skill. And knowing you as I do . . . I can't see it happening." He took a sip of wine. "Don't feel bad though. Just concentrate on being desperate for one -- you do that well."

John gripped his glass and narrowed his eyes again. "It's a skill that I am very good at. If you don't want to believe me that's fine but don't patronise me." All the times Sherlock called him an idiot and made him feel so small. Sherlock always made him so crazy.  

"What's been up with you recently?" Sherlock said. "You've been off all week. Just watch yourself, John Watson, because you know I don't handle challenges very well -- you keep showing off and I'll be expecting you to prove it."

"I could prove it," he said without thinking. He forced himself to hold Sherlock's gaze -- drinking with Sherlock had been wild lately but he wasn't going to back down. "And when you're a puddle on the floor, you'll see."

Sherlock looked straight at John. He wasn't quite sure how this had taken such an unusual turn, but Sherlock quite liked when John was confident like this. He smiled. However, Sherlock also liked being right and he was convinced John was bluffing. "All right then," Sherlock said. "Show me."

John licked his lips and stared at Sherlock for a moment before he drained his glass. He set it down a bit hard and fell onto his knees, crawling over to Sherlock. "Did you know . . ." he started quietly, opening Sherlock's trousers. " . . we had a lot of down time . . " he continued, tugging them down. " . . . in the army?" He grabbed Sherlock's pants and pulled them down as well, grinning when he saw Sherlock was already getting hard. He licked his lips again and sucked Sherlock into his mouth, moving down -- all the way down -- slowly. He came up just as slowly before he started to bob up and down deeply.

John moved too fast for Sherlock to process anything. It was like things were normal -- Sherlock in his chair, John on the sofa -- and then he blinked and John was sucking his cock."Fucking hell, John," Sherlock finally said. "All right, all right, you proved your point," he said softly, not sure what any of this meant or if John was going to keep going or if Sherlock wanted him to.

John looked up at him with eyes saying 'I told you so' and then he continued bobbing up and down because he was not going to lose this one.

Sherlock made a low moan in his throat. John's mouth was warm and wet and felt so good. It'd been so long since Sherlock had had such an explicitly sexual feeling. It felt good. He lifted a hand to John's shoulder and let his head fall back for a moment and his eyes close. "John," he said softly.

John hummed around his cock, wondering if Sherlock had ever done this before. Not just given one but received as well -- Sherlock was talking big before but he'd always given the impression he wasn't interested in this sort of thing. He was sure interested now.

Sherlock had no idea how much time had passed, he had no idea what was happening really. He lifted his head and looked down at John and suddenly, it was too much. "Stop, John," he said, pushing John's shoulder. "Stop it . . . fine, you proved your point . . . please." He felt his face go red and hot.

John pulled off, stroking with his hand. "Really?  Do you really want me to stop?" he murmured, his voice husky and soft.  

"Just . . . just stop, John," Sherlock said, pushing him away. "I don't . . . just . . ." He tried to do up his trousers awkwardly.

"I don't mind," John said, sitting back on his heels, not touching him anymore. "I didn't mean . . .sorry," he mumbled. He sat up and moved into his chair. The game -- well, he felt ashamed and awkward now. "Sorry."

"John," Sherlock said. "I don't . . ." He took a sip of his wine and then a deep breath. "Fine, you win. You know how to do it . . . well."

John cleared his throat and nodded, pouring himself more wine and drinking a big swallow. "Well, I suppose I cheated. You didn't have all the facts," he shrugged, speaking quietly.

"It . . . it doesn't matter," Sherlock said. He wanted to change the subject, wanted to pretend none of that had just happened even though he knew he couldn't. "Um . . . what are your plans for the rest for the night?" he asked awkwardly.

"I was just going to order dinner and maybe watch a movie. I don't know if there's anything on," he said.

"I suppose you'll watch some porn at some point, yeah? Now that you're feeling all full of yourself, I suppose you'll treat yourself to a nice, self-satisfied wank, right?" Sherlock said, getting up and walking to the kitchen before realising he had no reason to be there.

"No. I'm going to watch a regular movie and I am going to bed. Don't make fun of me for what happened," he said.

"You only did it to make fun of me," Sherlock said quietly. "Because you think I don't . . . you just did it to prove that I did."

"I think you don't what? You told me you weren't interested in that sort of thing. And the only reason I did it is because you kept making fun of me."

"You think I don't know . . . those feelings -- wanting. I know what it's like . . . sometimes I want, John," Sherlock said quietly. He stayed in the kitchen for now.

"Well, I didn't know . . . that's not what I meant to imply," John said quietly.

"Well, now you do know," he said. He realised he wanted to be alone, but somehow he thought that would make this worse. He looked over at John. He was his best friend. And now he knew Sherlock's secret.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he grumbled. John looked over at him, meeting his gaze.

"I'm not ashamed," Sherlock said. "Do we have to keep talking about this?"

"No. Let's just drop it," he said, sitting back down in his chair again.

Sherlock went in and sat down in his chair. He shifted a little. "Well, are you going to find something on the telly or what?"

"I don't know. I might just go to bed," John said. He took his glass to the kitchen and started washing it.

Sherlock got up and followed John. He stood a little bit behind him and said, "Did you . . . like it?"

John paused for just a second and nodded. "Yeah," he murmured.

Sherlock wasn't sure how that was supposed to make him feel. "I wasn't lying," he said quietly. "I've done it as well, you know." He took a step closer. "Do you want me to show you?"

John turned around to face him, leaning against the sink. "Will you let me finish you after?" He asked quietly.

"No," Sherlock said. "I'll do what you did and if you want more . . . you can take care of it on your own."

John looked down. He didn't know how he felt about this. He imagined it in his mind. "Okay," he said quietly.

Sherlock moved in close behind John. He slipped his hand to John's belt buckle, lowering it to palm him. Then he dropped down to his knees and rubbed his face over John's trousers as he gripped the back of John's thighs. He reached around, unzipping, and pulling John's cock out. He rubbed the tip against his cheek as he stroked the rest of it. Then he licked it up and down before sucking it into his mouth.

"God," John whined softly, his fingers lacing into Sherlock's curls. This was a lot sexier than John had imagined it would be. And his mouth! He could only lean against the sink and watch.

Sherlock dropped down to suck lightly on John's balls as he went back to stroking. Then he pressed a kiss on John's thigh and whispered, "In the army . . . did you pretend that a woman was doing it?"

John nodded. "Yes," he breathed, his fingers curling nervously in Sherlock's hair.

"Are you pretending a woman is doing it to you now?" Sherlock asked, before covering John's tip with his mouth and swirling his tongue.

John shook his head. "No," he murmured. "No, it's . . . it's just you, Sherlock, please. . ." he moaned softly, trying not to buck into his mouth. 

Sherlock swallowed John deeper and then slowly dragged his mouth back. He started a regular rhythm, gripping John's thighs again.

John steadied himself against the sink, his free hand gripping the counter hard. He was trying to take slow, steady breaths to keep himself under control but it was difficult. He looked down and whimpered softly, "You have to stop soon."

Sherlock didn't want to stop. But all of this needed to stop. He moved to stand up, still stroking John but more slowly. He leaned in and kissed him -- hard like they had kissed at the hotel -- and then whispered, "We're even now. Whatever each one of us does alone in his room tonight, that's his own business. I don't think we should talk about this one, John. And I don't think we should take this client after all." He let go of John and moved quickly into his room. He shut the door but didn't turn on the light. He slipped into bed and stripped himself of his clothes, but then lay there waiting to hear John go upstairs to his own room.

John watched him leave the kitchen and he stood there panting for a moment. He didn't understand anything -- the wine and the lust were clouding his head and now he had nothing, standing here alone in the kitchen with his pants down. He tugged them up awkwardly. He swiped a hand over his face and went up to his room, shutting the door softly. He crawled into bed and stayed curled up, breathing slow and steady. He just wanted to sleep and get to the morning, and he promised himself never to drink with Sherlock again. He didn’t touch himself, and he didn’t finish. If was an uncomfortable hour -- he couldn’t stop picturing it, but eventually his erection settled and he fell asleep.  

Sherlock heard John's feet on the stairs, but he didn't start masturbating. He wanted to, he wanted to come. But he knew he'd be thinking of John and that would just be too weird. Wouldn't it? He couldn't imagine seeing John tomorrow -- both of them remembering what they had seen and done tonight -- and Sherlock would know that it'd made him wank, something he hadn't done in years. And how would it feel the next time John went out on a date? When John finally found the woman he'd spent so much time looking for? John getting excited about seeing her and then he'd be shagging her and falling in love with her and then they'd marry and John would move out -- and during all of that -- Sherlock would have nothing but what they'd seen and done tonight.

He rolled over and pushed the side of his face into the pillow. He did his best to will sleep to come.


	6. And You, With All Your Skills, Don't See The Connection? (or I Love A Good Riddle)

_Mother. Lunch at three o'clock. I'll send a car. MH_

Sherlock groaned at the text. He glanced at the clock and groaned again. 2.45. He quickly jumped up and ran into his room to get dressed -- he hadn't bothered getting out of his pajamas yet. Why should he? He had nothing to do: no cases and . . . no John. Ever since the blowjob evening, things had felt different between them. They both tried to act as if it wasn't a big deal, but clearly it was.

So their conversations seemed a bit clipped, they had been eating their meals separately -- each of them coming up with what were clearly ridiculous excuses to not really be alone with each other. Sherlock didn't like it and he didn't think John did either, but he guessed until one of them figured out how to make things go back to how they were, they were going to keep behaving like this.

He came back out of his room and walked over to the window to watch for the car. He sent John a quick text.

_Out with Mycroft. Be back later. Have a good evening. SH_

He saw the car pull up and he headed out.

John looked at the message and sighed softly. He didn't even bother responding. He set the phone down and finally left his room for the bathroom and then to the kitchen for something so eat. He paused at the door, staring at the sink. That was the day everything changed.

He left the food and went back up to his room. All those little things -- pretending to date, touching, kissing -- and then suddenly a not-so-little thing and everything was ruined. John had replayed each of those things, trying to figure out why they had happened at all. Friends didn't behave this way but he and Sherlock were friends, weren't they?

Of course now they may as well have been strangers on the street. They hardly spoke. Sherlock was always off with Mycroft, John went out with Lestrade or Mike, and John didn't even know if there had been cases. He was sad. He missed Sherlock and they lived in the same flat. He missed Sherlock.

"Is there a reason for this visit?" Sherlock asked Mycroft, without looking over at him.

"She's worried about you," Mycroft said, without looking up from his phone.

"Me? Why?"

"Because I've told her you've been out of sorts recently. Because you have been and it's annoying," Mycroft said.

"I just need a case," Sherlock said quietly.

"Perhaps you should solve your other problem first?"

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said, turning towards him.

Mycroft looked up -- not at Sherlock, but past him. "Here she comes," he said. "Get out."

Sherlock looked over. The car had pulled up outside the restaurant and his mother was now rushing towards it. He moved to open the door. His mother practically yanked him out before leaning into the car and saying to Mycroft, "I wish you could join us. If your meeting ends early come and meet us, all right?"  
  
Mycroft looked up at Sherlock. "Enjoy your meal," he said and then went back to looking at his phone.

Sherlock's mother pulled him into the restaurant. Once they were seated and had ordered, his mother said, "Why have you been moping?"

"I'm not moping," Sherlock said. "You've met me. This is how I am."

"Why didn't John come? I was looking forward to seeing him."

"He's . . . been busy," Sherlock said, mindlessly messing with the salt and pepper shakers.

"And you -- with all your skills, son -- don't see the connection?" his mother asked, reaching over and stopping Sherlock from fiddling.

"The connection between what?" he asked, looking over at her.

She smiled softly at him. "Oh, Sherlock. You're still just a boy sometimes. The connection between your moping and your missing John."

"I'm not moping. And I don't miss John -- I live with him. How could I miss the person I live with?"

"Hmm," his mother said, moving her hands into a steeple as if she were thinking. "I love a good riddle. How could Sherlock miss the person he lives with? Well, maybe if that person went on holiday. Has John been on holiday?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes but also shook his head no.

"Well, what else could it be? Did you tell John you loved him and he doesn't love you back?"

"What?" Sherlock said, coughing a little. "I don't love John."  
  
His mother reached over and held his hand. "Yes, you do, Sherlock. I knew it from the start. I hoped you would eventually see it as well. Do you not see it or are you trying to pretend it doesn't matter?"

Sherlock didn't say anything.

She squeezed his hand. "It's all right, Sherlock. Whether he loves you back or not, it's all right that you love him." She smiled softly. "Okay, I'm glad that's sorted. Let's enjoy the rest of our lunch."

The rest of the lunch went as lunches with Sherlock's mother normally went. Mainly it was her talking about all she's been doing and Sherlock doing his best to listen. Once it was over, they walked out to the pavement and got in a cab. They stopped first as St Pancras so his mother could catch her train. Before she got out, she reached over and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Love makes you happy and sad, Sherlock. The sad bits are so horrible you might wish you didn't feel it. But the happy, Sherlock, there's nothing like it. It makes the risk of sadness worth it," she said. "I promise. And if you think about, you already know it's true." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and got out. The cab moved on to Baker Street.

Sherlock tried to make sense of everything his mother had said. She was right. Excluding the last couple weeks, almost every moment of his time with John had made Sherlock happy. Happier than he'd ever been. He wanted that feeling again.

When the cab pulled up, he threw the driver some money and went straight in and up to John's bedroom door. "John," he called. "I need to talk to you."

When John heard the knock at the door, he sat up too quickly and then paused. A hundred different things went through his mind -- did Sherlock want John to come along after all, did he want to delete everything or for John to move out? He shook his head to stop the thoughts, getting up and pulling his bedroom door open. He looked at Sherlock and felt like he hadn't seen him in years. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

"I need to come in and lie down on your bed," Sherlock said. But he didn't step in yet. "But before I do, I need to ask you something. Have you had anything to drink yet today?"

"What? You mean alcohol? I barely even drank tea," John said. He stepped aside and let Sherlock into his room, watching him closely.

Sherlock moved over to John's bed and sat down. Then he stood back up, took off his coat and threw it on John's chair, and sat back down again. He toed off his shoes and then lifted his legs onto the bed, lying back against the pillows. "Come on, then," he said to John, motioning for him to lie on the bed as well.

"Sherlock . . . what's going on?" He asked, but of course he went over to his bed and climbed in, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

Sherlock turned on his side and pulled John's arm so they were facing each other. He looked at John's face, tracing his fingertips over his cheek. "I'm sorry, John," he said softly. "But I know I love you now and I want to kiss you and be by you. Not just when we're drunk or pretending. But always. I'm sorry."

John blinked several times because so many things came out all at once and he was confused. "You -- wait, what? Why are you apologising?" he asked. Sherlock's fingers, his touch, was so nice and John wanted to roll right into him, but they needed to sort this out and he knew that.

"Because we're friends and . . . you like women and I'm . . . difficult and I don't know how to be now and I'm worried I've ruined everything," Sherlock said, finding it hard to meet John's eyes.

John swallowed hard and nodded. "We are friends. And I do like women. And sometimes you really are rather difficult." He smiled and touched Sherlock's cheek until their eyes met. "But I think recently we've been becoming more than friends. And I've fallen in love with you. And you're still difficult but it's kind of cute now," he said, smiling wider. This was such an enormous relief.

"John, I --" Sherlock said, trying to make sense of what John said. "Why . . . would you love me? Everything about you is good and . . . I-I'm not like that." He swallowed roughly and dropped his head onto the pillow. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am very sure," he smiled. "You're smart and handsome and you love me of all people," he said.

Sherlock looked over at John. "I do love you, John. I didn't know before but now I do."

John scooted closer now. "Do you still want to kiss me?"

"Yes," Sherlock whispered. "For real though." He looked over at John's face and leaned in, kissing his mouth softly, his hand moving to the back of John's head.

John hummed his agreement, sliding his hand into Sherlock's hair as he pressed into the kiss.

Sherlock held the kiss as long as he could. Then he pulled back, looking straight into John's eyes. "That's been the best one yet," he said softly as he smiled at John.

John grinned. "Yeah, it was," he agreed. He stroked Sherlock's cheek with his thumb.

Sherlock leaned in and kissed John again, this time a little harder. He shifted his body closer to John's and suddenly he was overwhelmed with a desire to be as close as possible. He leaned a bit, pushing John flat on his back and moving his body over John's. "John," he said softly, the kiss becoming full of urge.

"Just like the wedding . . . please," John mumbled into the kiss, this time his hands pushing into Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock pushed against John, sliding one hand underneath his body to his lower back. He moved his mouth down to John's neck, kissing and sucking on the skin. He could sense both of their breaths changing, their bodies getting warmer.

"That night. . . " John said, pulling Sherlock's hips closer and closer. He bucked up against him, moaning at the feel of his mouth.

"I didn't understand then," Sherlock mumbled as he opened John's shirt and put kisses over his chest. "I didn't know why I wanted to. But now I know." He licked a line down John's chest to his stomach and then reached down to open John's belt and pull down his trousers and pants.

"You too," John said, trying to sit up a bit. He pulled Sherlock into another kiss, tugging his trousers and pants together.

They each took their clothes off and Sherlock crawled onto John again. He lay flat against him and looked at his face, smiling. "We're naked now," he said, giving him a small kiss.

John grinned. "Yes, I can feel that." He wiggled a bit and kissed him again. "We can continue now," he smiled.

Sherlock kissed down John's chest again, moving himself down the bed. He covered John's cock with kisses, licking stripes up each side, but then moved even further down, kissing and nipping lightly at John's thighs and calves. Finally he moved back up and held John's cock in one hand and tipped it into his mouth, swirling his tongue as he made it wet and warm.

John hummed happily, lifting to look down at him. He brought a hand into his hair, petting softly. "That feels so good."

"You make me feel good," Sherlock said, looking up at John before sucking down again. He shifted his body slightly so his own cock pressed against John's leg and he moved a little to get some friction.

John groaned softly and gripped his hair. The weight from his shoulders was gone now. The awkwardness of the last few weeks may as well never happened. All the little casual things they tried to pull didn't work because they loved each other.

Sherlock kept sucking John, occasionally dropping to down to take his balls into his mouth and kiss inside his thighs. Then he moved back up the bed, turning John on his side and stroking his cock as he kissed his mouth. "Use your hand on me," he asked quietly. "Please." He ached to be touched by John in this way.

John spit into his hand before gripping Sherlock and stroking steadily. "You don't want my mouth?" He murmured, kissing along Sherlock's jaw and neck.

"I will . . . but I'm too . . . you've never touched me before and I'm close and I want you to make me come this way," Sherlock said, pressing his face close to John and trying to match John's rhythm.

John smiled and nipped at his skin. "All right," he murmured. He stroked faster, adding grips and twists as he did.

"You make me feel so good, John," Sherlock said. It was a simple sentence but Sherlock meant it in every way possible. He could feel his hips moving against John's hand, as if he had no control over his body. "God, John, I'm going to come," he moaned, letting himself go and spilling over their hands. He tried to keep his own moving and he pressed his face against John's chest, panting.

"God, oh God," John moaned, watching Sherlock finish. He followed not long after, moaning for Sherlock as he bucked through his orgasm. Watching Sherlock let go like that -- so completely -- was beautiful.

Sherlock wrapped his hands around John's back, squeezing their bodies together -- not caring about the mess they both had just made. "John," Sherlock said. "It's like we've waited forever for that."

John nodded, curling into him. He was so warm and comfortable.

"I want to make you happy, John," Sherlock said, looking down at his face. "Not just this way, but in all ways. I want you to find what you've been looking for here in the flat with me. I know I don't know how to do that, but I want to."

John touched his cheek lightly. "I'm sorry I've made you believe that I'm miserable here because I'm not. You do make me happy. I just never thought this was something we could share, that we could have."

"Neither did I," Sherlock said. "But it looks like we have it."  
  
"I'm glad we do," John smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. Everything he’d ever been looking for was right here and as they lay there kissing softly in their post-orgasmic state, John couldn’t help but be grateful for the things that had led them to this moment.


End file.
